


Long Live the King

by queen_serket



Series: Scenes from Bash's Reign [2]
Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Happy Ending, Internal Thoughts, One Shot, a baby king, bash is my lil baby, i wrote this in a night so bear with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 01:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17356748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_serket/pseuds/queen_serket
Summary: Mary chose Bash instead of Francis. It's now time for him to become King.The story of Bash and Mary's coronation as King and Queen of France, from his perspective.





	Long Live the King

**Author's Note:**

> ...I have no words for myself.
> 
> I haven’t updated since 2015, but here we go. Another crack at it.

As the door of his chambers creaked open, Sebastian stepped forward. The grimace on his face was difficult to hide. He stared down the Marquis of Rouen, Lord Narcisse, and attempted to look dignified. Proud. Kingly.

“Is it time?”

Narcisse gestured out the door in a sweeping motion. “France awaits you, your highness,” he said, as his lips twitched upwards in amusement.

Bash nodded. This was the day he had dreaded, and dreamed of; He had everything he’d ever wanted. Not just France, but more importantly, Mary. While he loved her, he knew he would miss the freedom of his old life. Dearly. His brother’s crown- or well, now, his crown- was a responsibility he would never feel quite prepared for.

He was King of Scotland, and now, King of France.

Stepping through the threshold, two clergymen escorted him down the hallway. Although Mary had explained the many steps of the coronation, the words seemed to pass through his ears without sticking. He was not raised to be King.

In a small, ornate room, they began to dress him. The clasps of his undershirt were undone, and it was replaced with a surcoat and sweeping robe of blue and gold; the colors of the monarchy.  
Bash stood still and let them do their work. The clothes were quite obnoxious, actually- the fur on the robe weighed on his shoulders, while the hem on his sash scratched his neck. He absolutely refused the golden tights, however. He wanted a scrap of his dignity left.

A knock resounded at the door, and Narcisse’s voice rang out again. “My liege, the queen requests I tell you to hurry. She is waiting very anxiously.”

He chuckled. “Tell my wife I will be out when these boots decide to become less of a pain in the arse.” The bishop by his feet gave a slight look of disdain. “Oh, as if you haven’t heard worse,” Bash muttered, sighing to himself.

The two bishops led him out of his dressing room, and into the hallway south of the main hall. He searched the faces in line for the procession- guards, nobles, and members of the royal family. Marie de Guise and his own mother stood so he couldn’t see her face, but he could recognize Mary from anywhere. Sebastian walked over to his wife and stifled a laugh. They were both staring straight forward, and it felt as if they were going to a funeral, not a coronation.

“And what are you so happy about, my King?” Mary said quietly, poking fun at his new title.

He shook his head. “You all look so solemn. Am I really that unfortunate?”

“Why, of course not, _your majesty_. We simply have a country that values tradition,” she said in a similar sarcastic tone.

“Well, at least they don’t hate me. Yet. I do have one more question about the coronation, though.”

She turned her head to face him, and smiled. “Of course. With what can I help?”

He leaned in as if to tell her a secret. “Do all royals dress in such awful clothing? Seriously, I am itching in places I didn’t know I could-”

She swatted his shoulder lightly, and let out a small laugh. “Oh, hush. We will change soon. After you become the King of France,” she added.

With that, trumpets began to play. Bash offered his hand to his wife, but she shook her head. He could almost hear her chide. We are supposed to look dignified. No courtship here.

The procession took slow strides, in tune with the rhythm of the music. As they rounded the corner, Sebastian’s stomach twisted. In front of him were all his friends and family, along with the many Scots he had met as relatives of Mary. His stomach turned again as he realized he wasn’t looking at them as just his friends, but also, as their ruler.

The pair stepped into the throne room and moved along the blue carpet. The Archbishop of Reims beckoned for the lines of nobility to join the crowd. One by one, the procession broke off. The guards lined the sides of the room, and their mothers stood on either side of the carpet, facing the thrones. As the couple slowed to a stop in front of the Archbishop, the clergyman gestured for them to kneel.

Sebastian looked over at Mary, who seemed to be glowing in this moment. She walked with the grace of a sovereign, born to inspire nations, and to change the course of history. If there was a God, her rule was appointed by Him. He, on the other hand, was a bastard son, a usurper, who had taken on a role he would never be truly prepared for. Sitting on a quilted altar, the Crown of Charlemagne stared at him from above.  
The music came to a stop, and in that moment, the silence was deafening. The Archbishop sprinkled oil onto his hand and crossed the future king. “I anoint you in the name of God, and affirm your right to govern under His supervision.”

He first handed Bash an ornate sphere, bejeweled and gaudy, and marked with a cross. It had an official name, but in all Mary had taught him, that name was evading him. He then handed him a golden scepter, marked with the arms of France and ornate swirls of metal. Symbolic of his kingly power. Sebastian swallowed hard, for he knew what was next. The bastard bowed his head, his heartbeat resounding in his ears. His nerves were typically iron, but today, his resolve was breaking. All of that was quieted, though. As he took on the mantle of King, a sudden resolve formed in his chest. He would do this. He would rule, with Mary alongside him, and he would make France proud. He would prove himself as worthy to be their King.

The crown was rested gently upon his head, and he rose to his feet. The throne was only a few steps from him, so it did not take him long to step up to the seat. He turned to face the crowd, his robe sweeping in an arc behind him, and his heart skipped.

A sea of faces stared up at him. His friends, his mother, lords, foreign diplomats, all were present, but one face stood out to him.

Francis.

His half-brother stood near the back of the crowd, and met his eyes. Bash braced himself for a glare, a curse, or an angry word but, unexpectedly, none came. His brother only nodded, and gave a sad smile. Not forgiveness, but as if to say, _wear_ _it well_.

Bash bowed his head slightly, to acknowledge him, and if he could, thank him.

As he sat on his throne, before his people, and before the eyes of God, he closed his eyes. This was not his birthright, but it was a burden he chose to bear. Sebastian looked down into his wife's eyes, and heard her chant:

“Long live the King!”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! so I haven't posted on here since like 2015, yikes! But I'm trying to get into writing again so hopefully, I'll be updating more. Do you guys want more Reign content, specifically Mary/Bash? I'm also thinking about writing some Frary stuff but we'll see. Lemme know what you think, I'm always open to constructive criticism!


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